


Visitation Rights

by Sky_kiss



Series: The Bear and the Phoenix [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst?, Brotherly Bonding, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Firebending & Firebenders, Flangst?, Just lots of passive aggressive snarking, Post Series, Sass, Ursa keeps her memories, fluff?, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14278116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: Ozai always imagined his wife would be the one to kill him. It would have been poetic, after all, and she was fond of such theatrics. Zuko is the one to stop her. Zuko, who likes to imagine he might redeem his father. Ozai isn't sure which outcome he'd prefer. Post series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See, the summary makes it sound vaguely dramatic. It's not. This is wildly, wildly dialogue heavy and just. A lot of sass. Because if the Fire Nation is good at one thing it's being both actively AND passively aggressive. Rating might go up depending on how frustrated Urzai get with each other. Either because of murder or smut. And any subsequent chapters will be less briskly paced.

Six months.

The Phoenix King spent six months in his cell, stray bits of sunlight for company. He turned his hand this way and that, watching the way it broke across his skin. Ozai cataloged how the intensity of the light changed between the summer, heading into the winter.

He learned that the angle of the window was wrong. That here, in the darkest reaches of the seasons, no light could reach him. Ozai felt cold. The silence was oppressive and he longed for the crackle of flame.

He leaned his head back against the stone wall. The darkness behind his eyes was, if nothing else, more tranquil than the prison’s flickering torches. As a boy he had been afraid of the dark. The Avatar himself could have demanded the information and he would have vehemently denied its truth but…there it was.

He had been plagued by nightmares at one point. Spirits that walked in moonlight had been his most common tormentors, their faces a mask of hate, twisted and dark. There were other creatures. Beasts that crawled up from the earth, leviathans that would swallow him up if he stepped upon their shore, a cadre of creatures. He remembered each of their faces.

And a cage. He’d dreamed of a cage.

Ozai bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The pain pushed back that foreign sensation of helplessness, the…weightless nostalgia. His father had chastised him for his weakness. By the time he had dreamt of his cage (and the spirits who danced outside its bars) he knew better than to seek out his father.

At five, he’d clutched his knees to his chest and wept, afraid to close his eyes.

That boy was stupid, weak…

He’d felt so alone.

Iroh had been his savior. Most memories of his childhood were blurry now but he remembered his brother’s presence. As a boy, still too young for politics, too innocent to concern himself with currying their father’s favor, it had been Iroh who lulled him back to sleep. Iroh who had sat beside him as he tried to explain his nightmares; Iroh who had clasped his shoulder and made him feel safe.

As a boy, he had adored his brother.

He drove that thought away. He hated that memory, that part of himself. In the darkness, it kept resurfacing. As a boy, Iroh had been his savior.

As a man, he had no one.  
_____

Zuko made it a point to visit.

It pained him to admit but…his son was more…Competent than he’d initially granted. The boy (young man, and he hated that he could see so much of himself in the child) settled himself in front of the bars. It was an odd contradiction. The Fire Lord, bedecked in all his finery, sitting cross legged on the prison floor. A son consulting his father.

He talked of their nation. He talked of Azula more often than not. His prodigy was…unwell and he felt a swell of nausea. He had taught her better than that, he had made her stronger than that. 

Zuko was silent now, the firelight catching off his face. The scar was still prominent, no amount of time would change that, but it no longer looked so glaring. It was a part of him now, acceptable, and thereby held no sway. Time was starting to change his face, the last remnants of baby fat melting away, leaving a fine bone structure. His son would be handsome.

Zuko no longer hesitated when he spoke, “Do you remember Ember Island?”

“You’ll have to clarify.”

“You were different there. I remember that.”

These attempts at redemption were just as commonplace. The boy had strength of conviction, he’d give him that. Ozai dragged a hand through his hair. It was wild now, too long, his beard unkempt. He felt savage, “Love makes all children blind, boy. Age lifted the fog.”

“That wasn’t it. You tried. You were…” he stopped himself. His hand curled into a fist at his side. Still too expressive but getting better at controlling himself. The throne was already shaping him. The thought was strikingly bitter. “That summer. I was six,” his lips turned up in a gentle smile, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Mom wanted to see the Players again. We’d seen 'Love Amongst Dragons' three times already…”

Spirits, it was difficult to forget. Ursa had kept that little obsession from him all throughout their courtship, hiding behind her grace, her educated mind, her delicate mien. It was only after they’d married that the ugly truth had come out. She’d been infatuated with that garish, ridiculous troupe. His wife, for all her elegance, had boasted hideously bad taste in entertainment.

He shook his head, his voice rough from disuse, “I remember. We’d only arrived the week before.”

“Do you remember what you did?”

Ozai pursed his lips. He spoke very carefully, “I told you to take your sister and go.”

“To find Uncle and hide,” Zuko had the audacity to snicker, the boy grinning, “We crawled under the bed when mom came to find you. Azula had never been so quiet. She was afraid to breathe.”

Ursa had been lovely. The ocean air had always suited her better than the stuffiness of the palace. She’d been sun kissed, the cut of her dress more casual. She had smiled at him. He remembered that smile completely, every small detail. The practiced lie he’d had waiting on the tip of his tongue died. She’d stolen away his charm, his bravado. He remembered grumbling…

“You told Azula and me you’d think of something but…you just. Threw your arms up. Uncle couldn’t stop laughing when we told him. It was like…your brain just…stopped.”

“It did,” it had. He massaged his temple, suddenly tired, “Your mother was…difficult to deny.” And she had enjoyed the garbage so thoroughly. That show, among all the other disasters they’d attended, had been particularly egregious. He’d weathered it with what little grace he could manage.

He could hear Zuko’s smile before he could see it, “Every time. Every time you…hurt me. Every disappointed look. I always thought back to that moment.”

Ozai snorted, “To the father who cared enough to save his children from another night at the theater.”

The damnable boy didn’t have the decency to look disappointed. Just shrugged.  
___

For two months he was convinced he was seeing ghosts. A figure, their form obscured by a heavy cloak, would visit his cell from time to time, staying just out of his line of sight. They did not speak, even when he called out to them.

Spirits bathed in moonlight; he chuckled to hide his discomfort, that nightmare still too vivid.

He asked Zuko about it and the boy shrugged.

Ozai picked at his bread, eyeing his son more shrewdly, “It’s strange. These visits always revolved around your mother.”

”And?”

“You’ve stopped asking about her, Zuko.”

His son frowned, pouring them each another cup of tea. He slid Ozai’s through the bars, steam wafting lazily off the surface. Drinking it was one of the rare times he felt properly warm. “I learned my lesson. You won’t tell me where she is. Why bother?”

It had been his obsession since that night with Azulon. Obsession was in their blood, thick, as damning as the gold hue of their eyes. Ozai pursed his lips, “So much improvement and you still haven’t learned how to lie.” Zuko shifted, his jaw clenched. Not nervous, challenging him to make an accusation. He felt an uncharacteristic swell of pride for his child, “So you’ve found her then.”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

He shrugged, “Two months, give or take. She wanted to come see you. I refused.”

Just like that, the fury was back. Ozai stiffened, his eyes narrowing to slits, “What gives you the right, boy?”

“A Fire Lord’s word is law, isn’t it, Father?” The (Fire Lord) prince squared his shoulders. “It was for your own safety. Mom was,” he winced, rubbing one hand absently over his shoulder. “Angry. I didn’t know if she would…”

He scoffed, “Kill me?”

Zuko held his gaze, “Yeah.” The two men sat in silence for a time before his son finally spoke, soft. Ozai had to strain to hear him over the prison’s ambient noise. The six words sent a rush of warmth through him, some other sensation he could not entirely put to words. Zuko refilled his tea.

“She still wants to speak with you.”  
____

A year.

A year had passed since they first threw him in this cell. He was still cold. That…empty sensation in his chest, the disconnect from his chi, had not faded. Ozai remained an echo of himself.

On his one year anniversary, the spirit finally revealed herself.

Ursa, her mouth pinched, brows slanted in an expression of such silent disdain, stepped forward, pushing her hood back. His wife settled before him, resplendent in Fire Nation Red. When she did not speak, he broke the silence, chuckling, “You’re grayer than I remember, wife.”

Her gold eyes lit, fixing him with a withering stare. Time had not robbed her of her small vanities. Ursa reached up, dragging one hand through her hair. The mass was still almost exclusively black. Only the small wrinkles near the corner of her eyes marked the passage of time. She was still, and he loathed himself for the admission, strikingly beautiful.

Ursa rolled a bit of bread between her thumb and forefinger before sliding him the tray, “Our son made me promise not to strike you before arranging this.”

”It’s poison he should check you for.”

His wife scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. He had always loved the look of her like this, fuming. The Spirits had chosen wisely when they had denied her access to her grandfather’s talents. Ursa would have been (irresistible) a nightmare.

“Will you be civil, Ozai?” The sharpness of her voice caught him off guard. Her left fist was balled in her skirt, white knuckled. He fought back the need to reach out to her. “After everything else, I think you can grant me that small indulgence.”

He sighed, staring up towards the ceiling. It was late now. No sunlight. Only the flicker of torches, “Why are you here?”

“I want to talk.”

“Like mother, like son.”

The muscles in her jaw ticked, “It baffles me that Zuko has been marked by assassins and yet no one has made an attempt on you.”

He chuckled despite himself. In a fit of uncharacteristic charity, he tore the loaf of bread in half, offering a piece to her without comment. 

When they speak again, he is almost civil.  
____

There's was a careful balancing act.

They didn't speak of her life, the six years they'd spent apart. She always shifted when the conversation drifted that way; he had enough regard for her left to steer them back to neutral ground.

They did not speak of the Avatar or how far Ozai had fallen. He would only sulk and then the two of them would be left to sit in silence. 

They do not speak of their children. Ozai understood that to so much as use their names in her presence was a sin, prone to leave her snarling at him. While she could not return to save her young she had spent those years cataloguing every perceived failure, every...misstep. 

Those conversations always ended with her storming out, dark hair whipping behind her. 

For all that vitriol, she always returned to him. 

_____

Ursa arrived with an armed guard and a straight razor.

He was not amused.

Over the past few months, her visits had been more commonplace. Shared experience allowed them to settle into a new routine. The old rules were allowed to bend even if they refused to break She spoke (vaguely) of her life these past six years. Of the man their son had become (and not the events which had facilitated his change). Those brief encounters were frequently the high point of his day. If nothing else, there was a…pleasure in listening to her speak. It made him feel…more human. More like the man he was.

So here they were. Settled near the turtle duck pond, surrounded by guards. He owed her for this field trip. Even without asking, he knew arranging it must have been an ordeal. Zuko, wisely, did not trust him. The sun beat down on his face. The air was humid, too thick in his lungs. His bride’s proximity did not help. The woman was knelt in front of him, coating her hands in some foaming mess. She applied it liberally (and none too gently), to his face before grabbing the razor.

When he’d asked “why,” she’d shrugged, looking so much like their son it ached. She turned his head to the side, her voice coming somewhere near his ear, “The reasons, husband, are two fold. For the first, our son asked me to make you presentable.”

“And the second?”

“Petty revenge.”

Ozai rolled his eyes, unable to keep from gritting his teeth, “We have servants for this.”

Ursa chuckled, her breath ghosting across his cheek. He was shocked by the warmth of it, shivering in the morning air. After spending months in the cell, cold, vaguely damp, he had forgotten the pleasure of such…simple contact., “Our son has servants, husband. You do not.”

“Must you remind me.”

“Until it finally sticks in that idiot head of yours, yes,” Ozai winced, the scrape of the razor just shy of breaking skin. His wife mumbled an apology.

Silences between them had never been uncomfortable. In truth, it was one of the reason he’d initially found himself so infatuated with her. Ursa’s face, her eyes in particular, were woefully expressive. Her body language was an extension of her voice, rigid when they fought, liquid when she was at ease. Despite her verbal irritation, she was not truly angry, not in the violent way he knew she could get. Her left hand only gripped his chin lightly, the majority of her body weight pitched against his shoulder as she worked.

Ursa was tired.

She arched one well manicured brow when his arm snaked around her waist, holding her more firmly, but did not protest. She was thinner than he remembered, her breasts less full against his chest. He wanted to ask her what had prompted that, how she had supported herself over the years but found he could not. In truth, he had no desire to learn.

It was her hands that kept catching his attention. The pads of her fingers were less smooth then they had been; he could feel calluses, thin but there. Frowning, he shifted out from under her touch, catching one of her wrists. The nails were painstakingly manicured. He did not miss the subtle discoloration, as if dirt had been deeply embedded beneath them for a time.

He pursed his lips, folding his fingers over hers. The disparity in their size still intoxicated him, “This should never have happened.”

She snorted, the sound so distinctly unlike her that he stared, “It’s the calluses that have decided you?” He glared. She had never withered under his attentions in the past but had always displayed at least a trace amount of caution.

“Your hands, my body,” his bending. The Phoenix King grit his teeth, “The world was mine, Ursa.”

“And you lost it. Along with everything else.”

“I remember you having more tact, wife.”

She smiled. There was something fond in the expression, something closer to what they’d used to share. She smoothed her thumb over his collarbone, “Years in banishment have a way of lending perspective, husband.”

Once upon a time, he’d been better at lying to her. Never adept; he’d never felt a need to justify his behavior to the woman but…decent. Now, he was left to stare at her, his mind pointedly blank. He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it, nodding.

He had meant to call her back to his side. That had always been his intention. Once Iroh was resigned, once the court had settled back into their rut, once the question of “succession” was finally put behind them, he had meant to call her back.

There was a hideous duality to his nature. Ozai understood that better than most. He had spent his youth clawing for scraps of approval from a man who would have preferred him dead. He had lied, cheated, killed for that throne only to achieve it through no merit of his own. He’d fantasized about claiming the mantle of Fire Lord and his Lady would rule at his side. They would make a name for themselves, legends, and yet his time at the head of their nation had proved a lonely vigil.

The world had hated him but his people had adored him. His generals feared him. He finally had his authority, his throne, but the hungriness had never faded. That hollow point in his chest had remained as empty as ever. He had the Nation but not the world…

He longed for approval and despised those that offered it. He had what he wanted and he found something else to devour. He had loved Ursa but what was the love of one woman compared to the world?

His bride shook her head, eyes sad. She returned to her work, silent. This time, he felt the weight. It pressed against his sternum, threatening to crush him. Ursa dragged the razor over his cheek. He pursed his lips, “You would have killed me.”

“Hmm?”

Ozai dared her to look away, his fingers digging into her hip, “If I had called you back. If I had done as I intended and you had sat at my side,” the razor stopped, his face almost entirely clear now. She let the blade fall to his shoulder, an absent threat; she barely seemed aware of just how close she was to his jugular, “You would have killed me.”

Ursa’s brow furrowed, “I was always loyal.”

“Your ambition was beautiful, wife,” he reached up, stroking the backs of his fingers across her throat. He was weaker now than he’d been in decades but he was certain: if he truly wanted, he could kill her. The guards would jump into action but…there’d be nothing for it. He could crush her throat, snap her neck. Her death would cause his son such agonies. Ozai took a steadying breath, folding his fingers behind her neck, “Could you have watched as I burned our son? Stood by as I shaped our daughter…”

“Ozai.”

There was a warning in her tone, her grip on him tightening. Her nails threatened to break skin, “It would have killed you. So I think…” he chuckled, tipping his head to the side. A dark swath of hair fell across his face, “You would have killed me first.”

She frowned, her attention flicking down. She would not deny it. At her core, in the fabric of her essence, Ursa was a good woman. Not a moral woman; he was certain his wife would have set the world ablaze if it meant protecting her young, but fundamentally good. She would not have stood by as he committed his atrocities. She cleared her throat, “How did you imagine it happening?”

“Why, Ursa, what a macabre question.”

“Please.”

He had never stopped to appreciate how bright her eyes were. Neither of their children had inherited the color, not exactly. The man chuckled, tipping his head back, scanning the courtyard. The guards were eyeing them with more interest, unnerved by his proximity to the woman. Their new Lord would be displeased with the liberties his deposed father was taking. He lowered his voice, leaning in to trace the shell of her ear with his nose, “ Poison, most likely. You were always so talented. A knife, maybe, if I’d truly hurt you. The how doesn’t matter,” He smiled. Something shifted between them, heavy, hungry, and his bride shivered despite the humid air, “I always imagined I’d die inside you.”

He let his words hang between them, catching her gaze, holding it. The years apart had frayed the strings tying them together, yes, but nothing had snapped. She stared at his lips, her tongue smoothing along the seam of her own, before shaking her head.

Ursa feared him. He saw it. Had always seen it, recognized the wisdom in her fear. He was dangerous, with his mercurial temperament and his dizzying drive and genius. When he was up, there was nothing more beautiful in the world. When he was down, it was like living in a cage. She was afraid because years apart hadn’t changed anything and by rights it should have. Nearly twenty years of marriage should have changed something between them.

Someone had blended them together a long time ago. Someone had cut up her fibers, everything that made her Ursa, and everything that made him Ozai, and then stitched them together. It’d been a patchwork job, but Agni, he felt it every time she tried to put distance between them. They were a sickness. When they were together, occupying the same space, it was manageable, just a low level fever, an ache. When they were apart, it was nausea and longing. Being with Ursa was being whole again; being apart from her left an emptiness in his chest, a clawing sensation in the back of his skull.

She was his. She belonged to him.

He stroked her chin, “Tell me I’m wrong, princess.”

One of the guards was approaching, saying something. He couldn’t make out the words.

“No,” it was a whisper, her breath tickling against his skin, “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Lady Ursa…?”

The guard could have been no older than sixteen. His hands were shaking badly, standing out of arm's reach. His gaze kept flicking between the two of them, as if frightened to take that final step. His wife shook her head, “It’s alright, Xao.” She frowned, looking away from him. Ursa wiped the razor against her sleeve (ruining the beautiful fabric, most likely), turning his head to the side once more, “I promised our son I’d make you presentable.”

They spend the rest of the evening in silence.  
_____

He’s forgotten how long he’s been left to rot in this cell. Time was mostly immaterial, he supposed, lifting his hand, smirking at the stray sunlight. It was summer, he knew as much, even without his connection to the elements. He had begun to catalogue his day less by the passing of hours and more by the presence of sunlight and his wife’s visitations.

She sat with him, closer than before. Ursa had grown tired of decorum and that old wooden chair, the way it creaked when she moved and threatened to give out when she stood. If asked, irritation was the cause of her proximity. The Fire Princess was settled on the floor, her left shoulder fetched up against the bars of his cage. If he wanted, he could reach out and touch her. 

After so many months, she might have tolerated the contact. 

Ursa hummed to herself as she worked at setting out their meal. Her voice had never been particularly strong when she sang but the notes were even and the prison’s natural acoustics shored up most deficits. He shook his head, adjusting to rest his weight on his right arm. He no longer sulked near the back of his cage. The low lighting made it too difficult to observe her from any great distance. 

The smell of fresh bread wafted on the otherwise stale air, mixing awkwardly with the scent of sweat and ash. She set his portion on a tray in front of him, poured him a small portion of oil for dipping, before turning to retrieve a string of grapes. He shook his head, “Feeling nostalgic, were we?” 

“Ozai?” 

No one else said his name in the quite the same way. He clenched his jaw to keep from reacting. The Phoenix King reached out, rolling one of the grapes between his thumb and forefinger, “You only ever wanted this after spending the day by the sea.”

She laughed, “I was always tired and this was easy. And safe to eat in bed.” 

“For the most part.” 

Ursa rolled her eyes, “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Thank Zuko for that,” he huffed, gratefully accepting his meal. The food Ursa brought was always far superior to the prison rations He felt a hint of a smile tug at his lips, “The boy insists on dragging up old memories whenever he visits.”

She reached up, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. Her shoulders squared in that way she only really managed when the conversation turned towards her children’s achievements. Pride and something else, something melancholy, warred for dominance in her tone, “He’s grown into a wonderful person. Better than either of us.” 

“On that we agree.”

She smiled, a hint of color flooding her cheeks. She was too old to blush, no young maiden. It suited her nonetheless. Ursa plucked at her meal, fingers ghosting over the bread before settling on the grapes. She had a taste for sugar, always preferring fruits, sweet wines. Such things always left him with a biting headache. It had never stopped him from indulging with her.

Love made fools out of the wisest men.

He glanced down, making a show of chewing his bread, “He did remind me of just how often you dragged us to the theater.” 

“The Players are a national treasure, Ozai.”

“I hated their performances.”

Ursa threw him an arch look, “Of course you did. You never had any taste.”

“Your son agrees with me.” 

His wife scowled at him, the expressions clearing exaggerated, flicking a crumb of bread his direction. “Our Zuko is famously a paragon of cultural refinement.” A moment passed. He watched as she weighed her next statement, eyeing him cautiously, “You never went along with anything you didn’t like, Ozai. If you truly hated the experience...why indulge me?” 

“I would have thought that was obvious.” 

“For once, stop playing the enigmatic lord and answer,” she dragged a hand through her hair, sounding so tired, “Please, husband.” 

Ozai sighed, glancing around his cell. The darkness was making him weak, the loneliness eroding him. Sitting here had worn holes in his impenetrable armor. And Ursa...had always been a weakness. She stared at him, her eyes bright and full of challenge, still beautiful despite the passage of time. He reached for the (damnably sweet) wine, “You were always...brighter after. Humming to yourself, trying to entice me to dance.” He grit his teeth, forcing himself to finish, “It was worth a few hours of tedium to see you that way.” Ursa jerked back as if he’d struck her, eyes wide. She opened her mouth before shutting it. The Phoenix king crossed his arms over his chest, grumbling, “If you would keep this confession to yourself, wife. Our son needs no more incentive to redeem me.” 

Her fingers brushed against his and he felt fire light in his blood. She squeezed his hand, “Of course.”

When she leaves, he’s cold again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai reflects on his past and receives a visit from his brother. Zuko comes looking for political guidance. Ursa brings her husband soup because deep down she's just a mom. Moms bring people soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you to everyone for your wonderful responses. You are all perfect, shiny, wonderful stars. I don't deserve you. Less Ursa this chapter, alas. The downside of writing exclusively from jailbird's perspective is that he is basically involved in like. Half a plot. Upside, while the other characters are off dealing with said plot actually happening, these two can do IMPORTANT things.
> 
> ...like makeout. Or. Kill each other. They go back and forth. Equally. Tien's Landing is from the game Jade Empire. I do not own it. I stole the name.

_A prince of the Fire Nation, even a second born son such as himself, never ran. Those words rang in his ears as he cut a path through the palace grounds, ignoring his tutor’s increasingly frenzied cries. He was seven and he wanted out. From under the wizened old crone’s thumb, from the scrutiny of his father’s generals, from the endless pressure…the boy could not pick an exact impetus for his flight. It was, perhaps, a sum of their wholes._

__

_Ozai ran. His lungs burned, protesting the effort, a muscle between his ribs threatening to spasm. The garden wall loomed in front of him, sheer, towering in comparison to his diminutive height. There were no handholds, no vines to climb. The prince snarled, slapping his palm against the stonework._

__

_No way out. He was trapped._

__

_The sudden swell of rage caught him off guard, sluicing through his despair. Those peasants were still on his heels and soon they would find him. They would report his misbehavior to Azulon and the bars of his cage would constrict, more of his freedoms revoked._

__

_He searched around him. This section of the ground was more wild. A footbridge connected two small islands, a creek running between them. He dove beneath the bridge, pulling his knees to his chest. If he remained very quiet it was possible they would pass him by._

__

_“Prince Ozai?”_

__

_That was Iroh. He was surprised. Father’s work usually saw him trapped behind a desk until the early evening. He did not respond. Ozai clenched his jaw, listening to the steady pace of his brother’s footsteps. Even without speaking, it would have been impossible to confuse the man for anyone else. He walked with the same easy grace as he spoke, unhurried by the chaos around him. The boy willed him to go away._

__

_The Crown Prince waited beside the footbridge._

____

_“Have you found him, Prince Iroh?”_

_____ _

_He did not recognize the voice. One of his father’s elite guard, perhaps. They spent the majority of their time in and around the throne room. Ozai himself was forbidden from the area: a lolloping child had no place in politics. The thought filled him with new bitterness._

______ _ _

_“I have not. Why not try the library, lieutenant. I am certain I can finish up here.” The metal plates of the soldier’s armor clicked as he snapped off a salute. Iroh had yet to move from beside his hiding place. When the sound of booted feet drifted off, the Crown Prince knelt, his face coming into view, “You led us on quite the chase, baby brother.”_

_______ _ _ _

_He scowled, resting his chin on his pulled up knees. Cold was beginning to creep over his skin, the bottom of his robes wet, caked with mud, “Why did you have to find me?”_

________ _ _ _ _

_His poor spirits never seemed to offend his sibling. If anything, Iroh’s expression softened. The man motioned for him to make room, ducking under the bridge, squeezing into the too narrow space beside him, “It is my duty. Your tutor was worried when you did not arrive for lessons this morning.”_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_“What’s the point,” he could feel himself pouting and hated it. The boy huffed, a shock of dark hair falling across his face._

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Self improvement, baby brother, is the first step towards…”_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Enlightenment, blah, blah,” he threw him an arch look, “You talk like an old man.”_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Iroh chuckled. He wished he could be more like his brother, easy going, calm. He wished for that more than anything. He just…couldn’t. There was something wrong with him (Spirits knew he’d heard it often enough), something ugly coiled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t understand what. Iroh set one hand on his shoulder. It was heavy, warm, nearer to a father’s touch than a sibling's. Ozai wanted to jerk away from him, cling to him, all at once. “Older than some people,” he nudged him. “You are troubled.”_

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He nodded, frowning. With his spare hand, he etched a few characters in the mud. The lines were sloppy and uneven. It would be some time before his calligraphy was passable, let alone exceptional. The second Prince knew he could afford to be nothing less than exceptional. He looked at his brother, the man’s eyes a darker shade of gold, nearer to amber, his face kind. The swell of love left him feeling choked, “Father hates me.”_

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“He does not…” Iroh stopped. The omnipresent grin wavered. He took a deep breath, “Ozai, you must not hold that against yourself. Our Father is a powerful man, well respected. But…” he frowned, lowering his voice. “He is an old man, baby brother. Set in his ways.”_

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Oh, he had heard the rumors often enough. The Second prince had been a miracle and a mistake all rolled into one. More than a decade and a half after her first conception, the Lady Ilah had fallen pregnant with her second son. He remembered his mother as a delicate woman, beautiful and frail. Her first child had taken quite the toll on her body. The second had come well beyond the blush of youth; she had never properly recovered._

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He clutched his arms around himself, feeling very small. Lo and Li told him his elder brother had been a strong child, broad shouldered and vibrant. By comparison, Ozai was lithe, his hands nearly delicate. One of the Generals had scoffed :the second prince would make a fine artist but was unsuited for life as warrior or a firebender. “He blames me for Mother,” he mumbled. Iroh did not comment. He pressed on, ignoring the heavy sadness in his sibling’s eyes. “He wishes I was more like you.”_

_________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Yes.”_

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Iroh never lied, never spoke to him like a child. Ozai pursed his lips. Without thinking, he had tucked himself against his sibling's side, searching out his warmth. The Crown Prince was an unparalleled firebender. His temperature always ran hot, “Sometimes I wish that too.”_

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_“Ah, baby brother. You would be far less interesting. Embracing one’s true self…”_

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He snickered, rolling his eyes, “Iroh.”_

_____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Too wise for this old man’s proverbs, eh?” The Crown prince winked at him, squeezing his shoulder, “Father may warm to you in time, Ozai. Until then, why not hone your own skills? Your instructors tell me you have the makings of an excellent firebender.”_

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The boy blinked, “They said that?”_

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Of course! You are a child of dragons, baby brother,” Ozai ducked his head, if only to hide the foolish smile threatening to split his face. Even in his darkest moments, Iroh’s good spirits were contagious. His brother laughed, the sound boisterous and warm. “Practice your bending. Make our Father take notice.”_

________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Would you train with me, brother?” He could not keep the excitement out of his voice._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Iroh stroked his beard, making a show of consideration, “My basic forms could use some work.” Before he could get to his feet, Iroh had a hand fisted in the back of his robes, hauling him back down, “Wait, wait, wait, brother. Before that. Why don’t we…” _  
______

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__

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“...enjoy a cup of soothing jasmine tea.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ozai turned just enough to favor his elder brother with a sneer. The old fool was grinning to himself, a ceremonial tea set resting in front of him. Steam wafted up from each of the cups, the sweet, floral scent coloring their surroundings, mingling with the stale prison air, the hint of mold. He shook his head, returning to his katas.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

More and more often, he was beginning to feel like a sideshow. Visitors came and went, expressing little consideration for his own wants. If he refused to indulge their tired attempts at conversation they typically left him be.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He doubted his brother would show the same consideration. Ozai swung his left leg out. The cell was roomy enough to facilitate exercise, provided he was careful. More than once, he’d over extended himself, brought his arm out too wide. He’d struck his hand against the bars hard. The resulting crack was enough to catch the guards attention. He had been more careful since.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It felt good to move, to exert himself. The months of inactivity had left him weak. He had hardly been aware of it until their foray to the turtleduck pond. In the clear evening sunlight, he’d caught a glimpse of his own reflection. The sight was…uncomfortably sobering. His once handsome face was more heavily worn, a few streaks of gray beginning to manifest near his temples. Ozai would admit he was a man prone to vanity and his appearance repulsed him.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He would change it. He would resemble his old self once more.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Phoenix King took a steadying breath, bringing himself back to center. Without his bending, his fire, the once familiar katas felt strange. There was a dam in the back of his consciousness, impeding the flow of his chi. If he just reached out he could almost touch it, his fingertips grazing against the stream.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It always faded away before he made contact. Ozai snarled. He was cold despite his fury.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I am glad to see you reinstate your physical routine. For a while, I feared I would be forced to represent not only ours family’s brains, but our looks as well.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He rounded on Iroh, “Some things never change. You’re still making jokes.” Iroh’s interpretation of humor had always been loose.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“ I find it is the best way to lighten the spirit. You are troubled, Ozai. Come. Sit.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The younger prince growled, plucking the thin blanket from his cot, wrapping it around his shoulders. The sweat on his skin was beginning to cool. He would not allow himself to sit shivering in the dark in front of that old fool. He tipped his nose up, settling himself on the floor with as much grace as he could manage. His muscles ached pleasantly.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Very well, Iroh,” he took the tea with a nod of thanks, lips pressed together, “I will indulge your game.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Your alternatives are limited, I fear, baby brother.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Iroh chuckled. The sound was never unkind. It left him needing to twitch, nails dragged across a chalkboard with aching slowness. “What shall we discuss? The weather? Our health? Your various acts of treason, perhaps.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The elder prince was frustratingly immune to his jibes. They rolled off him like beads of water off a turtleduck’s shell. Iroh sipped his tea, making a soft noise of pleasure, “Ah. An excellent blend, don’t you think?” Ozai did not respond, staring down into his glass. The taste was pleasantly floral, colored by a softer note of honey. He would never say as much. His brother frowned, continuing more slowly, “An emissary of the Earth Kingdom arrived for the Fire Lord.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Come seeking reparations have they?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Iroh nodded. In such moments, it was easier to imagine the General he had once been. The lines of his face, softened now by age and rich foods, grew harder. He stroked one hand over his beard, “Among other things. King Kuei is demanding the immediate removal of all Fire Nation colonies.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“That spineless whelp thinks to make demands of the Fire Lord?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Ah, you remain as tactful as ever.” He smirked, finishing his tea. “ Zuko is looking for guidance.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Why should that interest me? It is your shoulder my son finds himself crying into.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“For reasons I cannot fathom he values your input. If he comes to you, brother, I would ask you speak to him plainly. He finds himself in a,” the man paused, considering his words carefully, “Trying position. Could you imagine leading the nation at his age, Ozai?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He frowned, the truth of that statement cutting through his hubris. No. He could not imagine it. The role was isolating at best, crushing at its worst. His son was…too young to wear the mantle of Fire Lord. He cleared his throat, “I would have managed.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“At seventeen, you were more interested in the court’s young ladies than its politics.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He scowled, “In this one respect, you cannot throw stones.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Nor would I want to!” Iroh chuckled, the gravity leaving his figure. The elder prince’s shoulders relaxed, pouring himself another cup of tea. “I recognize my failings, baby brother. Or, should I say, my talents.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The old fool went so far as to wink. Ozai shook his head, an unwilling chuckle escaping him. Prison was eroding his better judgment.  
__

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Zuko did not come to him at first, unwilling to appear desperate. For two weeks, his son was notably absent. Iroh visited again in the interim, willing to discuss politics in exchange for a sporting game of pai sho. The Phoenix King lost both games by a wide margin.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Perhaps my next visit I will bring you a book on strategy, brother.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And, of course, he had. Ozai poured over the material after he left, pleased to have something to stimulate his mind. Even the most banal literature was better than nothing. He lost the next match as well. It had been less of a bloodbath.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re improving, baby brother. Another few years and we might enjoy an interesting game!” Ozai scowled, resetting the board. 

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He lost again. The notion that he was inferior at something, anything, in comparison to his brother drove him to the edges of madness.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ursa did not visit. 

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He told himself it didn’t matter.  
___

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You are troubled, Zuko.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His wife had told him once, many years back, that his voice held an unnatural degree of power. It was deep, almost rasping, and somehow equally smooth. He could still recall the summer heat, the feel of her limbs tangled around him. Even when the nights were most stifling, he had preferred to find his rest within the cradle of her thighs, nose tweaked against the rise of her breasts. The steady rhythm of her heart managed to alleviate even his worst bouts of insomnia. A viper’s tongue, she had called it, not unkindly. Pleasure and poison married together.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Zuko did not respond. His son’s eyes were heavily ringed with purple, dark tendrils of hair falling around his face. He had not been sleeping.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

If nothing else, Ozai understood that weight. His son dragged a hand through his hair, leaving the mass even more wild than previously. The top knot fell lankly to the right. When he spoke, his words were quiet, exhausted.

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“The stories never say what happens after. The heroes triumph and then it’s over,” Zuko frowned, his lip curling back over his teeth before he caught himself. “The Avatar saved the world. Now I have to figure out what to do with it.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What did you think would happen, boy?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The words were softer than he expected, genuinely curious. Conflicting emotions warred for dominance on the young man’s face. Zuko bared his teeth. Fire licked around his clenched fist, bursting outwards as he struck the wall, “I don’t know.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ozai watched the embers drift on stagnant air, curling back towards the Fire Lord. They settled harmlessly on his robes before extinguishing altogether, leaving the boy with a thin coating of ash. Where the material had once been immaculately tailored it seemed to hang off him in places, too loose around his belly. His cheeks had adopted a sunken quality, the line of his jaw too sharp. The Phoenix King could not find it in himself to gloat.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You are too feeling, Zuko,” he leaned his head back against the wall, hands draped over his knees in a mimicry of an old mediation stance.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Zuko scoffed, “I suppose you think Azula would do better?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“No,” his prodigy, for all her talents, for her unrivaled intelligence, her fierceness, her beauty, had proven herself poorly suited for the throne. Ozai massaged his temple. He had miscalculated somewhere along the line, bound the girl to him too tightly. With Azula it had been a careful balancing act. Too much independence, too much approval, triggered her predatory instincts. She would see him as weak and devour him. Too little and she spiraled, her cunning, her effortless charisma, abandoned in favor of rampant paranoia. He had grown reckless near the end, neglected her management, “I never intended your sister to rule.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You named her Fire Lord.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“A vassal, answering to her Phoenix King,” Ozai scoffed, “Neither of my children were fit for the throne. A spineless son. And my daughter,” the disappointment was more stark when it came to Azula. The boy had always been a disappointment. She had been so nearly perfect, “Would have drowned the Capitol in blood.” He shot the boy a hard look, “I had no interest in seeing my kingdom reduced to ash.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Father,” the thickness of the term still struck him, dripping with sentiment after all these years. His son had spoken with the same frenzied determination before their Agni Kai, gold eyes burning. “If you still care for this Nation, you will advise me.”

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“Aren’t I the villain in your little story?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yes,” Zuko squared his jaw. In the half light, the boy looked wild, dark hair mostly free from his top knot. “Uncle taught me how to oversee my men. But a nation…” he shook his head, “You are the only man still alive with that experience.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And what does your Avatar think of this?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Aang is not the Fire Lord. I am.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He felt a reluctant swell of pride for the boy king, “Perhaps you are not entirely hopeless.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“King Kuei wants me to relinquish all Fire Nation territories within the Earth Kingdom. But it’s not so simple as that,” that hard quality was back in his eyes. In it, Ozai saw an echo of himself. It was jarring, “We have held those lands for a century. They are our citizens as much as Kuei’s. Those are the only homes they have ever known.”

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“What does the Avatar believe?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His son scowled, an edge entering his tone, “I already said: Aang isn’t the Fire Lord.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Tell me his views, Zuko.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A muscle ticked in the boy’s jaw. He searched his father’s face, looking for any hint of mockery. Finding none, he continued. “He believes I should agree to these terms.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Kuei seeks to separate you from your greatest ally,” the Fire Lord frowned, motioning for him to continue. “Kuei has been a puppet the entirety of his reign. To Long Feng, to your sister. He lost his throne and his kingdom. Tell me, Zuko, how did he return to power?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“After the war ended…”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Phoenix King shook his head, interrupting before he could finish whatever he'd intended, “After you won the war, Zuko. You and your little friends. Kuei is there by your mercy and the Avatar’s. His strength has never been his own. These ridiculous demands,” he sneered, unable to keep the loathing from his voice. “Are not within his power to enforce. The Earth Kingdom’s army is shattered. The war left Ba Sing Se a shell of its former glory. The rest of their cities were conquered or razed.” Ozai paused, letting the weight of his words settle in, “The Avatar triumphed, the Earth Kingdom did not.”

********

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What are you saying?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“The war cost them everything, boy. And it’s closure brought them no relief. Kuei cannot stand against you. But the Avatar…”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Zuko frowned, “Aang will enforce the ruling in Kuei’s favor.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Precisely.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His son seemed to consider this, his expression severe. Of his children, he had always considered Zuko the simplest to read. Looking at him now, he could not divine the path of his thoughts. His son bowed, “You have given me much to think about, Father. Thank you.”

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“I aim to serve, Fire Lord Zuko.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

If the boy objected, he did not say.  
___

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He asked after his daughter only once, out of curiosity more than concern. The guard (Xao, that was the name Ursa had used) knew nothing. She was still caged then. If she were free, if she were herself, Azula would have made herself known.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Another week passed and Ursa remained absent.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ozai resumed his katas.  
___

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Loneliness was not foreign to the second born prince. He had lived most of his life with the emotion hanging around his neck, subsumed beneath his ambition, his rage. Within the confines of his cell, with little to distract himself, he was more acutely away of the sensation. The days between his visitations felt starkly exaggerated.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He found himself longing for intelligent conversation. Anything to stimulate his mind.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Even Agni could be merciful. He had blinked awake to find his wife staring down at him, a wistful expression on her face, hood pulled up. He wondered if it was the same cloak she had worn that night when she’d fled, if she’d managed to keep it all those years.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He wondered if the past could ever mean so much to anyone.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You look terrible,” Ursa said, smiling, the sentiment never quite reaching her eyes. The same melancholy always hung about her when they spoke. It was masked behind vitriol at some times, triumph at others, but it never truly faded. He understood better than he liked to admit.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Looking at her was not unlike staring at a mirror, its edges blackened by flame, warped by time. He could catalog the changes between this woman and the one in his memories, use it to trace her decay. They had both been caught in the same downward spiral. The simple red garments granted to prisoners were a far cry from his ceremonial robes. A lack of physical exertion meant he was leaner now then she’d ever seen him, the material hanging open across his chest. She frowned, reaching out before stopping herself.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

An ugly burn stretched from his left shoulder down to his ribs, winding around his side. The flesh was an ugly white, puckered and raised. Zuko had offered to have it treated in the aftermath of his successful coup, the pretty watertribe girl almost vibrating behind him, willing, wanting to help, no matter what atrocities he'd visited upon her people. He hadn’t wanted their pity.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His preferred it like this. His failures branded across his skin. 

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ozai chuckled, “How I’ve missed your honeyed words.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She ducked her chin. If nothing else, the resulting smile seemed more genuine. She settled herself in front of the bars, “Country living erodes courtly graces.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Of course,” he watched, fascinated, as she laid out their meal. The scent of it had reached him long before the woman herself, herbs and fresh rice. Ursa had paused in the doorway, ladling out a bowl for the guard before continuing on. It was undoubtedly responsible for the privacy of their conversation. His son’s soldiers lacked discipline. The boy would have to address that. “I was always curious where you ended up.”

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“You didn’t know?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He shook his head. Ursa pressed her lips together, passing the empty bowl through the bars before portioning out his share of the soup. His stomach threatened to growl. Jasmine rice, chicken, and some medley of vegetables floated in the broth. He waited until she had finished serving herself before taking a bite. He was a prisoner, after all, not some uncultured savage.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It was a welcome change from bread and rations, simple but not lacking in flavor. They ate in silence. The warmth licked out from his belly, filling him with a pleasant heat. He set the empty bowl aside, “Thank you, Ursa.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His wife blinked. A hint of color played across her cheeks, “Did you like it?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He huffed, “I’ve had nothing comparable since my…” his lip curled, “Imprisonment.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She brushed a few errant strands of hair away from her face, “I’m glad. I never learned to cook well but…this soup was one of the few recipes I always seemed to manage.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You made this?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ursa laughed, the sound clear, free from their typical bitterness, “Don’t sound so shocked. It’s not as if I had access to the palace staff.” She chewed at her lower lip, staring up at him. On most women, it was an attractive look. Ursa made it intoxicating. The delicacy contrasted with her innate strength, the softness of her voice, “Would you like another bowl? You’re really too thin.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Please.” She refilled his bowl. Ozai traced the lines in her wrist, delicate, thin. It was difficult to imagine her, clad in simple robes. He tried to conjure the image and found it lacking, its edges jarring against the elegance he associated with his bride. He paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, “I would have liked to see you mingling with the peasants.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Ozai.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The note of disapproval was enough to make him chuckle. The Phoenix King shot one glance towards the door. Xao had yet to return. Ozai lowered his voice, “Tell me of your life.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You ask so sweetly, husband.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His grit his teeth, staring down into his meal. The lack of authority would never stop itching, leave the taste of bile in his mouth. He was powerless in this cell, unfit to issue orders. His pride rankled. Ursa was staring at him, one brow quirked. More curious than anything. Even in the early stages of their marriage, when their infatuation was still at its most heady, he had never expressed much interest in her affairs.

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“My life no longer exists outside these four walls, Ursa. Even country living has appeal in comparison.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ursa set her meal aside, staring up at the cells only window. A fine eastern breeze had started, the freshness disturbing the otherwise stagnant air. “Very well. After I fled, I took refuge in Tien’s Landing.”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ozai sneered, “The fishing hamlet?”

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yes, dear. The fishing hamlet. Should I expect an interruption every time you disapprove of my decisions?

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The note of challenge was strangely charming. Ozai motioned for her to continue, leaning against the bars of his cell. He finished his second bowl of soup and Ursa filled it again, repeating the process until they’d emptied the small pot. The sound of her voice was as pleasant, as smooth, as ever. Tien’s Landing was not the largest port in the Earth Kingdom but it was populous enough to serve her needs. She had found work as an herbalist. The influx of traders and sailors was enough to ensure her pockets were never entirely empty.

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And she had never wanted for information. Someone was always willing to trade her secrets from the war front, the latest gossip from the Fire Nation. Despite the hundreds of miles separating their family, she had never allowed herself to drift away entirely.

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“It was a quiet life,” she said finally, her brow furrowed. She turned her palm over. A thin scar marred the otherwise flawless flesh. He was surprised he’d missed it. Ursa smoothed her thumb over the mark, “Human beings are nothing if not adaptable. I thought I’d die outside the palace. Without our wealth. Without our children.” She shrugged, “Somehow I survived.”

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“You are too strong for anything else.”

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“Thank you,” she hesitated before holding her hand out, “ You have that strength as well, Ozai. It may seem hopeless but…you can overcome these losses.”

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He lacked her confidence. It seemed wrong to say as much. The lull between them, however temporary, was a welcome thing, bordering on peaceful. He took her hand without comment, focusing on the warmth of her skin, all the ways she remain unchanged. 

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Ursa spoke of her life, of sunrises in a far off kingdom, of the modest home she’d eventually called her own. The struggles of learning to fend for herself (the first winter, her roof had leaked and she’d very nearly broken her neck attempting to patch the hole) and the eventual satisfaction she’d taken in herself. It was woefully mundane.

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He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift, her voice washing over him. Ursa painted him pretty pictures of a countryside he would never see.

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End file.
